If Sadness Is a Colour
by Jazyrha
Summary: "I'm sorry," Bruce says, and he means it more than anything.


**Summary: **He has never seen anyone this broken before, he thinks, just a mosaic of little horrors and tragedies. **  
>Warning: <strong>Angst. Slash smut. Semi-public, in a sense, I suppose.  
><strong>Pairing: <strong>Wally/Alt!Bruce, implied Bruce/Wally **  
>Note: <strong>Set in the "A Better World"-universe. Written for Jenn & Laura on msn.

**If Sadness is a Colour.**

_If sadness is a colour,  
>it is blue, just like your eyes.<br>- "Sadness" by Stash._

There is something in the set of his shoulders that makes Wally feel _vulnerable_ almost, as if he's being stripped of everything, until he's reduced to nothing underneath the gaze set upon him. He can't see his eyes, but he knows they are blue. He has never truly looked in them, only seen them on pictures and on a few rare moments, but always from a distance, like staring straight into the sun, afraid to go blind.

He struggles against the bonds, against the gaze, squirms and fights, but to no avail.

"Whatcha looking at, huh?" he shouts, if only to clear the thoughts in his head. There are so many things that are wrong in this world, in this _future_, that he feels like he could shout out his lungs and never stop feeling so angry. He wants to know what happened to Shayera, he wants to see her, to crack a joke just so she can tell him off. He wants to run, his legs are already aching, he's hungry, his head hurts and -

Batman stares down at him, his _captive_, and there are so many things wrongs with all of this, he cannot come close to comprehending this. As his echoes die against the cold walls, Batman shifts a little, a movement so subconscious, Wally feels like he should be looking away as well.

"You'll appreciate this one day," Batman tries to explain and he never bothers with that ever. Wally feels his stomach sink. He wants to see _his_ Bruce. The _right_ one. The one he cannot help but respect, the one who he could look at and think that no matter what happened, he would be a constant. The sun around which the whole earth could resolve, the one person that would never falter in the face of horror.

_Why_, he wants to ask, w_hy are you doing this? Why are you allowing this to happen? What about justice, what about the right thing to do?_

He looks away instead, says: "Yeah, I don't think Hawkgirl's going to appreciate it too much!"

"That was an accident!" Batman falters a little, almost as if physically struck and his voice is too loud, too emotional to belong to him. The tone is all right, but the words are not. It is a subtle difference, but it might as well be highlighted in neon to Wally. He will never be the _right_ Batman. He could _never_ be him.

He took everything he stood for and reduced it to nothing.

"She's in our best hospital," Batman says, calmer now. "Trust me, he last thing we want is to lose another -" he cuts himself off and that is wrong as well. His Batman would never start something only to fail to carry it through. It didn't matter what it was, Batman finished what he started.

"Another _what_?" Wally shouts.

Batman walks away, no answer given.

"I think he likes you," he could hear the right Bruce say in the cell next to him.

"Yeah, must be my magnetic personality," Wally snarls back.

"Most likely," Batman disagrees, "it has to do with what happened to this world's Flash."

Wally needs a few seconds to let that set in. "Wow, you mean he's..."

"Yes," he confirms the unspoken sentence.

Wally goes limp in the chains, thinks about that, thinks about how he dies. He wonders if it's as heroic as his Uncle Barry's death, if he saves the world, as well. But -

He _didn't_. He died and then the world became _this_. This living hell. His best friends became gods, deciding over life and death as if they had the _right_, as if somehow that was right and acceptable, and -

"I can't leave you guys alone for a fucking second, can I?" Wally says, and it' supposed to be a joke, but it comes out too seriously. "This - this isn't actually because - because of me, right?"

He wants Bruce to tell him he's being stupid, that he doesn't mean that much, that he's just a kid, he's replaceable. There's enough speedsters in the world. He's just Wally West, just a kid that got struck by lightning, just an immature, insecure guy who lives in a small flat, counting cars driving past his window, forgetting to pick up his laundry all the time, he's just _him. _

"You are far more," a small pause, as if looking for the right word, "_important_ to us than you think, Flash."

Wally lets out a small, amused, indignant smile. "Yeah, that's _exactly_ how I'm treated all the time. _Important_."

"Perhaps not on a strategic level," Bruce says.

"So, what now, I'm the glue that keeps us all together?"

Bruce doesn't dignify that with an answer and Wally tries very hard not to think about what that means. He can't - he - it's difficult to think, there's too much to think about, he doesn't _want_ anyone to become _this_ because of him. He wants them to tell stupid stories at his funeral, to cry a few times, have a few sleepless nights maybe, he can allow them that much, but then he wants them to remember how he made them laugh, how he made them happy, how he _tried. _ He doesn't death to change that. It already changes so much, why does it have to ruin everything that he build?

He struggles against the chains, suddenly panicked at the walls, they're too close, he doesn't want to chained, he doesn't want to die, he doesn't want this, why can't this stop, why is it like this?

"Calm down, Wally," a voice says and Wally freezes completely. The wrong Batman, the non-Bats is looking at him, a tray of food in his hands.

"It's Flash for you," he says. "I'm not hungry. Go _away_, aren't there any more innocent people on the planet you can kill, any laws to enforce?"

Batman's face distorts a little in something between a smile and a grimace, just for a few seconds, before he gets in under control.

"I don't kill _innocent_ people," he says, as if that justifies everything.

"It used to be '_I don't kill anyone'_," Wally replies and it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

"I was foolish back then," he admonishes himself, opening the door to the cell and walking in anyway. "I thought I could protect what needed to be protected without resorting to such methods, but -" he stands still in the cell, doing that thing with his face again, a half-smile that makes Wally feel like he's watching someone slice his own throat over, like he's being pushed from a building, like someone used a sledge hammer on his heart.

"But I corrected that mistake now," he continues, "and my only regret lies in the fact I couldn't do it sooner, that I -" a slight hesitation again and Wally wants to scream over the sound of his voice, tell him to shut up, to stop destroying the image he has of Batman, to stop justifying all the wrongs, but he can't. He can't say a single word.

Batman shakes his head a little, as if trying to get rid of something, steps a little closer. "I'm sorry I couldn't do it in time to save you."

"As if I would want such a thing!" Wally means for it to come out as an angry shout, but it's a hoarse whisper instead. "As if I would ever let anyone get away with murder."

"You _died_, Wally," Batman tries to explain. "Do you even _understand_?"

"I don't want to understand," Wally interrupts, stubbornly. "I will never understand how you could think this is the right way."

"He _killed_ you," Bruce continues. "Just like that, just a day like any other."

"Don't -" Wally says, a warning. "Nothing you say will make me not hate you, so piss off."

"It was Saturday," Bruce continues nonetheless, the tray still in his hands.

Wally looks away, can't look at him, can't look at the spitting image of his Batman telling such a story. God, he thinks, this _is_ his Batman, this is him after he dies. Wally notices the tray shakes slightly. Batman is shaking, his voice quivering, ever so slightly, but it is there. It's the last impossibility and Wally feels betrayed like a child being told Santa Claus isn't real, that it was a lie all along.

Something burns behind his green eyes.

"Luthor had played us all, he kept us busy for weeks, all of us. There were so many prison breaks I can't even count them, so many false leads, so many nights we spend awake," his voice sounds off, as if he's reading from a book, and he puts the tray on the ground, walks so close Wally can almost feel him standing there.

He tries to push himself against the iron this time, tries to disappear into it, tries to vanish from all of this.

"Then that Saturday, everyone was so tired, so broken, so _weak_," he grits his teeth and almost spits the last word, as if it's poison, as if it's on fire in his mouth, his one hand is clenched into a tight fist, the second brought up, wavers in the air between him and Wally.

"We were defeated so easily, Wally, it was _pathetic_," a short, bitter exhale, something like a laugh, so sharp Wally could slice through his ribcage to find a beating heart, "but you wouldn't give up. You never do, don't you? I don't think you even know _how_ to. So he made you the example. For all of us."

"He only needed one shot," Bruce says and then his hand is on Wally's jaw, grabbing it painfully and forcing him to look at him. Wally resists the urge to spit in his face, feeling his heart sink, Bruce's face again distorted in this awful smile. "I couldn't do anything. I couldn't do anything that wouldn't kill him, so I hesitated and that second cost you your _life_!"

"You did the right thing," Wally says, and he shudders when it echoes hollowly, meaninglessly against the walls.

"Did I?" Bruce raises his voice. There's so much anger, so much hatred, Wally closes his eyes and feels it wash over him like a cold wave, crushing his bone, squeezing the air out of his lungs. "If I did, then why did everyone fall apart like this? Tell me, how is _his_ life for _yours_ not a good deal? How is losing what you love better than getting rid of what causes nothing but pain?"

"But look where it brought you," Wally whispers, his voice barely audible. "Look what it did to you."

"You would've done the same," Bruce says, smiling now, an honest smile, the grip on Wally's jaw soft now, just fingers brushing, ever so gently, and Wally can't breathe, never learnt how to, doesn't know how to keep his heart beating, doesn't know how not to be disgusted at that, doesn't want to think about that, isn't even going to, because even for those he loves the most - loves?

Did Bruce just -

"You... loved me?" Wally says, and it sounds stupid to his own ears, he must've misinterpreted, he must be hallucinating, it's all just one big, bad dream and it's going to go away.

It's going to go away. He just needs to keep breathing.

Bruce doesn't answer that, but it answers everything. He traces the line of Wally's jaw with his fingertips, slowly, softly, as if he's afraid that if he presses too hard, Wally would shatter in pieces and disappear, as if he would push through the smoke. The smile is on his lips, ever so subtly, the sweetest sadness Wally has ever seen.

He has never seen anyone this broken before, he thinks, just a mosaic of little horrors and tragedies.

"You should eat now," Bruce says, changing the subject, breaking the moment. "You must be starving."

He picks the tray back up, no longer shaking and Wally has this strange urge to tell him that everything will be fine, to pick him up, to take him home, to save him from the downpour and the evils done to him, to sort him out, to patch him up, apply bandages to all the wounds, to rinse them out, to kiss it better.

"I brought you chocolate biscuits," Bruce says, almost as if embarrassed. "The ones you loved so much."

"I'm not _him_," Wally says, because he's not. He's not him. He's not the Flash that died, not the one Bruce saw getting his brain shot out. He's not that one. He's not the right one, he'll never be him.

Bruce hesitates a little, the biscuit in mid-air, as if he got punched in the face, as if he was paralysed.

"I know that," he says and brings the biscuit up to Wally's lips. Wally refuses to bite it the whole five seconds, but he _is_ starving and they _are_ his favourite cookies and this Bruce fell in love one day with a speedster that looked just like him, that _was_ him, only to watch him die and now he's all messed up, now he's broken, now he has the saddest eyes Wally has ever seen and Wally doesn't want that to mean as much as it does to him.

He doesn't want any of this, but he bites down anyway.

The biscuit tastes good, perfect, the way it should be. Bruce smiles fleetingly at that, so _genuine_, Wally feels like he's doing something right, like he can see a little of the Bruce he's supposed to be in there, hidden. The Bruce he may have fallen in love with, the right one, the one that lets the Joker walk away alive after murdering children and paralysing women, because that is, no matter how fucked up, the _right_ thing to do.

Bruce pulls off the gloves at the second biscuit, brings his hands to his cowl, then pauses.

"Do you mind?" he asks, and Wally can't help but laugh.

"_Honestly_? You betray us, send electricity through our veins, lock us up and now you're asking if I mind to see your _face_? You're fucked up as hell, Bruce."

"Do you?" Bruce simply repeats.

"No," Wally says, despite knowing better. But he needs this too, he needs to see those blue eyes, those haunting eyes, he needs to see what they're capable of, how they can change, how far it can come. He needs to see it, so maybe one day, he'll recognise it in time to stop it.

Bruce pushes the cowl back, revealing the black hair and the blue eyes, as it should be. He has a scar Wally hasn't seen before, all over his left cheek, stopping at the bridge of his nose, harsh and painful, as if he's been cut right in the face. He picks up another biscuit and brings it to Wally's mouth, as he looks at the scar.

His lips brush against Bruce's fingertips as he bites at the biscuit and he can see the shiver pull through him, through his entire body, as if he hit him with electricity. Wally glances up, looking in his eyes, blue and focused, as if nothing exists outside the blue of his irises. As if nothing exists at all.

Wally smiles, almost embarrassedly, feeling his heart throb heavily, painfully in his chest.

"Wally," Bruce says, like something he can't hold inside, a secret he kept too long, "let me see your face."

"I -" Wally hesitates, looking at the wall where _his_ Bruce's cell is located. Bruce would _kill_ him if he let a stranger see his real identity, would have this whole lecture about it, but... he's - this is not a stranger. This is _Bruce_, this is a Bruce that's seen to many horrors to survive them.

Wally nods, and he feels like he's selling his soul to the devil.

The smile on Bruce's face is worth it.

Bruce touches the edges of his mask as if he's holding a treasure, as if he's seven years old and unwrapping his Christmas gift. Wally tries not to fall in love with this, because it would be wrong, it would be all wrong, but Bruce looks so _human_, so perfectly beautiful and Wally's heart skips a few important beats. Bruce softly pushes the mask over Wally's face, letting it hang around his shoulders.

"Thank you," he says and it's too heartfelt to be Bruce, too honest, too much of everything and Wally bites his lips, can't handle this at all. He prays someone will burst the door and ends this, while at the same time he wishes the world would cease to exist after this. He feels something cold and empty settling inside when he realises _his_ Bruce would never do this, would never allow himself to feel this way about him. About anyone. It was easier to believe Bruce was _incapable_ of loving someone, anyone, instead of just – _scared. _

"Your eyes," Bruce says, as he lets out a shaky breath, "they're still the same."

Wally wants to look away, because he knows he'll never forget this image, he will never forget the way Bruce looks at him at that moment, will never forget the blue of his eyes, the twist around his lips, the little wrinkles in his face. Bruce gingerly touches his hair, smiling as if he's reliving a happy memory, his eyes slowly becoming a little more clouded every second.

"Did we - I mean, did you and he -" Wally asks suddenly, if only to kill the moment before it kills him.

"No," Bruce says, his hand still in Wally's hair. "We - " he shakes his head, starts again. "I allowed myself to love him once, but I - I was an idiot."

"You pushed him away," Wally continues the story, because this is a plot his knows. This is a story he's heard before. The only scenario possible.

The hand in his hair feelings like burning, feels too solid, too real, but he can't move, he can't move at all.

"Yes," Bruce admits. "I told myself I didn't need it. That it would end up bad. I was so sure that I could live without it."

"It's not weakness to feel," Wally protests. "You're only human."

"I'd forgotten that," Bruce smiles this heart-wrenchingly sad smile again. "I'd convinced myself I was better of without distractions. But then you _died_ and it was too late."

Wally's eyes are burning and so is his heart and he wants to run, he just wants to run until he passes out, until he can't breathe anymore, until he circled the world a million times, until his thoughts are reduced to _one foot in front of the other, again, again, faster_.

"And now, now I'm stuck in my world of what-ifs," Bruce whispers, as if telling a secret, closes the little distance between them until he's touching Wally's chest, shaking his head, sounding so _pained_. "Now I build portals just to see if you're alive somewhere, just to see you again, just to see the green of your eyes again."

Wally isn't quite sure _why_ he does it - perhaps it's the sadness in his voice, perhaps it's the devotion in his eyes, the set in his shoulder, but he leans forward and kisses him, gently, to make up for time lost, for all the what-ifs, to mend a few wounds, perhaps. Bruce freezes underneath his touch, doesn't even kiss back at first, just stands there.

Wally pulls back, his heart and head screaming two entirely different things and he can't hear either, he _can't_.

"He would've thought the answer is yes" he says, and maybe that's as cruel as it is merciful, but he needs to say it, he needs Bruce to know. His Bruce, this Bruce. "If you're wondering if you were ever worth him, if it would've been worth all the hurt and the pain. He would've thought the answer was yes. He wouldn't have doubted for a second."

Bruce looks at him for a few seconds, then so sudden even Wally barely has time to react to him, he pushes himself closer again, presses his lips against Wally's, and it says everything. It's _desperate_ and drenched in _regret_, it tastes like _sorrow_, but Wally kisses back with all the passion he has in his body, thinks of the kisses he'll never get with his Bruce, thinks of the what-ifs.

Bruce makes a small, hurt noise against his lips, his hands on Wally's chest, over his heart, feeling his heart race, reassuring himself Wally is actually there, alive underneath his hands and Wally struggles against the chains for an entirely different reason now, wants to hold Bruce and be held, wants it _now_, has always wanted it and maybe he'll never get it from the right one, maybe it's all wrong, but if it's the only thing he will get, he will take it.

"Get me out of these chains," Wally gasps as soon as Bruce has to give up the fight against oxygen.

"I can't, Wally," Bruce says, almost pleadingly. "You know I can't."

"Let me touch you," Wally whispers, and he tries not to think about how much he sounds like he's pleading. "Please."

Bruce looks torn, the way he never does, the way he shouldn't, but maybe Bruce has never been in this place before, never had to choose between what he wants and what he knows is the smart thing to do, maybe Bruce has never been this broken before.

Wally tells himself it's because he has a plan, tells himself he's only using him, that the racing of his heart isn't really there. It's easier that way.

"You'll run," Bruce accuses him.

"I won't," Wally promises. "Bruce, I _won't_. I don't _want_ to."

Bruce shakes his head and he looks even more devastated as he takes the keys and unlocks Wally's chains one by one. He's barely done with Wally's right foot before Wally lurches forward, burying his hands in Bruce's hair, kissing him deeply again, pushing his tongue past his lips, tasting him, tasting what he's only dreamt about, taking everything without asking for it, without waiting for permission.

Bruce drops the keys and slips his arms around Wally's waist, pulling him closer, even as he stumbles backwards from the strength with which Wally jumped on him. He manages to turn them around, so it's Wally's back who hits the wall. He moans, maybe a little too loudly. Bruce's hands are everywhere on his body, and Wally memorises every movement, the way his fingers slide across his body, every inch of calloused skin forever in his memory.

Bruce drags his teeth across Wally's neck, sucks and licks the spot where he can best feel Wally's pulse and Wally tries to swallow his moans, tries to keep this as quiet as possible, just a silent dream, a secret he won't share with anyone, and he can't decide where to put his hands either, wants to feel everything, wants to feel it all, exploring and discovering every single inch of his body.

He just wants more of this, wants Bruce to mark him, even if it won't last. God, he's wanted this for _years_ and he can't care that's it's wrong, that it's not the right one, that he's being fucked up against his _cell_ wall, that if he makes a sound that's too loud _everyone _will have heard, everyone will know what a disgusting person he is. He can't care about anything but the fire spreading through his entire body.

Bruce pants Wally's name over and over again, quietly, like a song, a mantra, a prayer or a wish, perhaps for all the years he's wanted to say it but couldn't, for all the times he wanted to but held back, for all the times he dreamt of gunshots, for all the times he woke up all alone.

Bruce almost claws at his costume, trying to get it off, right _now_.

"Careful," he smiles, his chest heaving, and he grabs Bruce's hands before he can do any damage. "I've got nothing else to wear."

Bruce nods, takes a few shaky breaths, then, slowly, starts undoing the costume, careful not to damage it, leaning back every so often, pressing wet, desperate kisses on Wally's lips. His hands are shaking, trembling as he touches Wally's skin and Wally has never wanted to be naked so badly in his life, needed the feel of someone skin against his so much. It's _too_ much, _all_ of it, he wants it too much, it's too much to have it, he feels like he might lose his mind right here and now and never find it again.

When Wally's completely naked, Bruce takes a step backwards and simply looks at him for a few seconds.

There is something extremely embarrassing and strangely hot about that, Wally realises. Bruce just stands there, looking at him, as if he's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, something rare and precious, something breathtaking, like a super nova or the northern light.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers, and Wally doesn't think he even realises he said it. He feels Bruce's eyes like burning on his skin, almost more intense than his actual touches and he lets out a shaky breath. He could drown in the blue of Bruce's eyes, drown and never regret it. There is no world outside this. There is nothing but this, nothing but Bruce's eyes on his bare skin and then his fingers as he steps forward again, slowly brushes his finger tips over every inch of exposed flesh.

"So long," he whispers against, and this time Wally's sure it's not to him.

Bruce pushes his chest against Wally's and the feeling of the cold Kevlar against his feverish skin makes him whimper. He finds Bruce's lips without looking at them, still drowning in the blue, while his hands search for some way to get the suit off. He's not sure if he can handle Bruce's naked skin against his, but he needs it anyway.

He needs it, he wants it, now. If he has this moment, this one guilty pleasure, he won't ask for anything more. He won't demand things he can't have, he won't expect to be so lucky _his_ Bruce actually loves him too, he's not as much of a fool as he should be. If he can have this, if he can just take this and make it his own, he won't ever complain.

Bruce gets the message and undoes the belt, his lips never leaving Wally's, throws it in the corner, parts quickly to get out of the cape, the upper part of his armour, strips down quickly and efficiently, the way he always does everything.

Wally sinks his hands in Bruce's black hair as he starts licking Wally's neck, sucking the point where his shoulder and neck meet, moves down, leaving hot trails of saliva on Wally's collar bone.

"Oh, god, Bruce," Wally moans, hoping it's quiet, hoping it's just a hushed sound, "Oh, God, fuck, this - I -"

Bruce rubs the palm of his hand against Wally's nipple and he bites down on his wrist quickly, muffling the sound against his skin, reduced to his basic instincts.

"B-Bruce," Wally says, "d-don't be so," he gasped as Bruce licked the skin, "_fucking slow._"

Bruce grins against him, a knowing grin, as if he's already heard those words before and Wally's whole body jerks without his consent when Bruce sucks hard. Wally's chest is heaving like he's run at the speed of light for seven hours, and he can _hear_ himself moan Bruce's name like it's the only word in his vocabulary, tries to keep it down frantically. Bruce's hands roam over his body, and Wally keeps arching and jerking. He tugs on Bruce's hair hard and in reply Bruce bites him.

"Oh - fuck, do that again," Wally begs, "_again_."

Bruce complies, biting again and Wally's breathe hitches in his throat, tugging again. He licks the marks he left, circling around it with the tip of his tongue and slowly gets on one knee, as the circling, wet motions he makes with his tongue slowly descend downwards.

"Oh, God," Wally breathes out again, "oh, oh, you're - you're actually going to -"

Bruce smirks at him, on both knees now. He looks at Wally's erection, twitching for attention and Wally has to keep himself from shoving Bruce's face in his crotch. He could come at the mere though of this happening. Bruce licks his lips, then licks Wally, a long, slow lick and Wally throws his head back in his neck, gasping and moaning, holding a hand over his mouth to keep quiet.

Bruce seems to like the result, for he repeats the process a few more times, simply licking him, not yet taking him in his mouth and Wally makes more noises, louder noises, _new_ noises, scratching at the wall, until his fingers bleed. He inhales sharply when Bruce wraps his lips around him. His mouth is hot and wet and damp and Wally's hips jerk, and Wally feels like his brain is shortcutting, like his nerves are being overloaded, and he wants so much _more_.

Wally never thought it was humanly possible to feel this good, to feel this hot for someone, to want something this much. He looks down and he can't look away then, can't stop looking at the way his length disappears in and out of Bruce's mouth, the sight of him makes him see spots, he knows he'll never be able to watch anyone do this to him without thinking of this.

"I can - _see_ - you," he says quietly and it doesn't make any sense, but he says it anyway.

"B-Bruce, I-I-" he tries to warn him, and he arches forward, thrown completely off balance by the all-consuming feeling, taking over his body leaning on Bruce's shoulder's with both hands heavily, arching his head so he can still _see_ what's happening.

Bruce sucks hard at that, digging his hands in Wally's hips and Wally feels his body tense entirely, feels the fire reach his brain, infect him everywhere.

"Bruce!" he grits out, one last time, biting down his lip hard to keep from screaming. His knees give out underneath him, his mind goes blank, there's nothing but a haze, a cloud, a feeling. He's nothing but this feeling, this single emotion. He's nothing but desperately in love with Bruce Wayne.

He sinks to his knees, gasping for breath and Bruce pulls him against him, kisses him and Wally can taste himself, mixed with a taste that is unmistakably Bruce.

"Y-You should've -" he tries to explain, "you didn't even -"

Bruce smiles at him, sliding his hand down between Wally's leg and whispers in his ear. "Experience taught me I won't have to wait too long for a second go."

Wally flushes a bright red, and squirms a little.

"Wally," Bruce says suddenly, his voice all serious again, dark and low, even as he slides his fingers between Wally's legs, even as Wally can feel him hot and hard against him. "Wally, he'll always push you away."

Wally freezes.

"Don't let him. Don't let him make the same mistake."

"He - He isn't, he doesn't -" Wally protests, gasping a little as he feels himself getting hard again.

"Yes, he does," Bruce says silently. "I know he does. Don't let him convince you otherwise."

"I -"

And Wally can't think rationally, can't think about anything else but Bruce's fingers between his legs, squeezing and rubbing and stroking and his voice is too serious, too low, too _hot _and he -

"Promise me."

Wally nods anyway, not sure if he can keep his promise, not sure about anything.

"Alright, I won't, I won't let him," he promises.

Bruce smiles, pulls him up. "Good."

Then Wally has no time to talk anymore, because Bruce has him pushed up against the wall again, and he slides his fingers over Wally's leg, lifting it a little to get a better angle and Wally's already too hard, already moaning loudly when he feels Bruce against him. Bruce pushes him up against the wall and Wally locks his legs around his back, his weight supported by the walls and Bruce's arms, still strong, still perfectly protective.

Bruce bites all across his chest and Wally keeps begging him to do it again, to do it faster, more, better, more of this, always more, there's never enough and Bruce complies to every uttered order.

Wally has his hands in Bruce's hair and jerk his head up harshly, wants to make _him_ feel just as good, wants this two-sided, wants to hear him, wants to taste him, wants to feel his lips against his so many times he couldn't forget the feeling if he _tried_, kisses him again and again, tries to memorise the feeling, the sound of Bruce moaning in his mouth, the way his tongue slides over the inside of his mouth, the way his teeth graze over his lips, everything of it. He rocks his hips for the little room he can move them, tugs on Bruce's hair until he can't do anything else anymore.

There is electricity dancing along his nerves, pressure and fire and all things hot and all the things he ever wanted, ever needed in Bruce's kisses, the future, the past, the present, all of it, all of it and more.

Bruce presses him harder against the wall, parts from Wally's lips and Wally feels like he lost something vital, something essential, something he can't live without. Bruce looks him straight in the eyes and Wally thinks that maybe he can see it in there somewhere, maybe he can get how he would lose it if he lost this. Maybe, just, maybe, he can see what Bruce lost, maybe he can understand what happened. He feels too good to feel sick about that fact.

"Do it," he says, as he realises why Bruce is hesitating. "Oh, God, _please_ do it. D-Don't hesitate now. Don't stop now."

Bruce nods, biting his bottom lip and it's a gesture that never looked so hot before. He shift's Wally's leg's a little and the position isn't entirely comfortable, but Wally doesn't care.

Bruce thrusts in hard and Wally hits his head against the wall, moans, just so the feeling won't swallow him whole, devour him. Bruce grunts, rests his forehead against Wally's chest and Wally brings one hand up to his hair again, pulls it and Bruce thrusts in hard again.

"Faster," Wally commands and Bruce complies. "Oh, god, fuck, Bruce, ah, you - fuck"

Bruce fucks him hard and desperately against that wall, groaning and moaning his name, trying to form sentences that don't make any sense at all as Wally begs for more and faster and harder and tells him how it feels, how _good_ it feels in his hushed, hoarse, skipping voice and Bruce remembers this, all of it, he's been here before, he's lost this before.

Wally tugs his hair hard and comes all over Bruce's stomach, panting and gasping for air. It's the feeling of Wally clenching around him, the sound of him as he shouts Bruce's name that makes Bruce lose it too, biting down hard in Wally's shoulder to avoid shouting his name.

He slowly sinks both of them to the ground before pulling out. He lies on back in the ground, trying to catch his breath, looking to Wally as he redresses himself, recognising the blush on his cheeks.

"Wow, fuck, wow," Wally says, grinning.

Bruce smiles, and for a second he's somewhere else entirely, for a second he feels as if he can have that second chance.

"I suppose this is the part where you lock me up and flee," he says instead, because he never dreams about things that can be changed, never needs anything more than reality.

Wally looks guilty, but doesn't protest. He's already holding the key, and he's already dressed.

"At least let me put on the costume," Bruce says.

Bruce gets up and quickly put on the costume again. Wally chains him gently, the smile on his face perfect in its guilt, in its sorrow.

"I'm sorry," he apologises and Bruce almost believes it, believes that Wally means him, that he _is _sorry, just not for the _right _thing.

"So am I," Bruce replies, means it more than anything, and Wally kisses him, softly, on the lips.

"I won't let him push me away," Wally promises, then turns around and leaves.

Bruce closes his eyes and smiles, waiting until they're all gone, before unlocking the chains and walking back to the Cave, for the first time since that Saturday feeling human again.

Two friends asked for smut on msn and I felt like I should comply... Since they write me stuff all the time XD So, here it is: Alt!Bruce/Wally smut, yay!

Please review ^^


End file.
